


Lendi Nenï

by GlitchEnder, MutantEnder (GlitchEnder)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: As seen on Flight Rising, Conlang, Flight Rising Lore, Gen, Mystery, Pagfenx Nongoshe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitchEnder/pseuds/GlitchEnder, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlitchEnder/pseuds/MutantEnder
Summary: From the ruins of one clan sprouts another. Mysteries unsolved from the past resurface, as if begging to be solved by great minds. Join dragons and other mystical creatures, both lost and found, in their quest to solve the biggest mystery in the Ashfall Waste: the Disappearance of the Pagfenx Nongoshe.
Kudos: 1





	1. Council Space

[ ](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/10347090)  
[ ](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60948335)

  
"And He said She hurt them?" Nostradamus asks, scribbling into a book as fast as he could.  
  
"Saï did. Both of them." Tigerzord states, "He never stated why She did so."  
  
The priest nodded. "Did He ever talk about Himself, your highness? For Ïvils is my focus as of now."  
  
"He stated He was only an ojiewu; a demigod to a much greater power who created Him." The elemental looked down at what the oy'krani was writing. "What is that?"  
  
The priest smiles sheepishly, "A draft of a holy book, your highness. I'm planning to give new sermons with the details you're giving me."  
  
"I see." The elemental sits back in his throne in thought as he tries to remember where he left off.  
  


[ ](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60928638)

  
"Your highness!"  
  
The skeletal scientist bursts through the double doors to the throne room in some sort of excited panic, metallic voice echoing harshly throughout the dim hall. His glasses could barely cling to the sides of his skull with flimsy tape. Nostradamus stood back in alarm while Tigerzord stood up from his throne, arms crossed across his chest.  
  
"What is it, Asterisk?" The emperor asks.  
  
"The machine from the old laboratory, I found out how to turn it on! It works, your highness! It's still connected to the power grid!" He shouts with glee.  
  
"Amazing work, Asterisk! What does it do?"  
  
The excitement from the skeleton fades instantly to a more formal tone, "About that..."  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"It says "input command," but nothing I've typed works. It returns "Syntax Error" every time. "Help" doesn't work either, your highness."  
  
Silence fills the hall. The young skeleton waits for further instruction, but the old emperor has no idea what the next course of action would be. He shakes his head.  
  
"I appreciate your efforts to learn more about this land and its former inhabitants, but I would rather you work on something else. I believe you've hit a dead end." The plague elemental croaks.  
  
The bright-eyed scientist nods in agreement. "Yes, right away, your highness."  
  


[](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60965495) [](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60965497)

  
Asterisk fixes his crooked glasses as he passes through the large set of double doors out to the main area. He jumps at the sight of Döngoshe and Pagfenx, two massive guardian dragons, laying down on either side of the door. They don't seem to notice him; both of them were speaking to each other in a strange tongue he could barely understand himself: Ohagïsha he believed it was. They were practicing, no doubt. His poor hearing and reliance on lip reading made this language downright impossible for him to learn. As he silently slips between the guardians, he wonders if the language had sign language as well. He physically shakes the thought away as he ascends the stairs in the main chamber.  
  


* * *

  
The metal doors opened slightly to allow Asterisk to climb down into the much cooler lab from the volcanic desert that was the Ashfall Waste. As soon as his shoes hit tile, he pressed a button to shut the doors. Every day he came here, it was the doors that made him all giddy, like a child discovering how a light switch works for the first time to the point they don't stop flicking the switch on and off. He was more mature than that. He walks between all the stone-top tables and returns to the far corner of the room where a large screen with keys sat. It was what remained of a much larger computer room no doubt, he could only imagine what the original room would've looked like.

[ ](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60834607)

  
Then the doors to his lab opened suddenly. Asterisk tried to close the doors again with his remote, thinking he accidentally pressed the button that did so. No response from the remote. Baku snout. He peeked his head out to see who had intruded. A large, brown blur hopped down into the laboratory. A dragon. He stood frozen in fear as his eyes began to weakly glow violet. It looked very different from other dragons he'd seen, an outsider no doubt. Its hat blocked out its eyes, so he couldn't know its alignment. It wore a large leather coat and mask it wasn't somehow overheating in. A blacksteel drone returned a small box to it from just outside the door before retreating to the charging station in its arm.  
  
"Another council space," a gravelly voice spoke from behind his mask, "This is the signal?"


	2. Try Your Call Again

**  
  
SEND**

**> RECIPIENT: msg(AfW:78103-9.66*)  
>> ATTACHMENT: [N/A]  
>> CONTENTS: I don't know how you are able to communicate with me, but I'm not returning to the Pagfenx, "*". I don't believe in the supernatural, but that place is cursed. If I were you, I would leave ASAP. Cease communication or risk you and your fledgeling clan's life.  
> ENDMSG: true  
  
> SENT: {hours_ago}  
> READ: {minutes_ago}**

****

The endless whirring of old computer fans blowing hot air throughout the room somehow masked the light knock of the much smaller banescale. His fluorescent orange markings morphed around his green and purple scales as he snuck further into the computer room. His large, white eyes gazed up at the enormous sepia-tint computer screen displayed in front of a massive, golden yellow imperial. A tiny Ichor Nymph sat atop the imperial's massive wings, fervently studying the commands her boss was typing and paying no mind to the banescale behind her. The ancient squinted his eyes and extended his legs to try to get a better look at the text displayed onscreen. In his efforts, his talons slipped on the steel floor beneath him as he braced his fall with his glowing wings and made a scraping noise as spines damaged steel. The curly-maned imperial turns to face the source of the noise. The banescale peeped nervously, caught in the act of snooping around.

  
"What?" The imperial boomed. The only visible part of his face was the reflection of his spiraling glasses in the computer screen behind him.  
  
"Oh! Sorry, Kur—I mean, Q! I just wanted to know what you were up to." The paranoid ancient stuttered.  
  
"The citadel read the message, but they haven’t responded yet," Q huffs, "When they do, and they refuse to throw away the messaging system, you are gonna fly over and destroy it for them and bring the user back to me." The end of his curly tail swishes around lazily, creating a light breeze around the banescale's feet.  
  
"What if they're an imperial?" The smaller one asks.  
  
"If they're too big for you to carry or restrain, destroy them." Q turns back to the computer screen, still awaiting a reply. The nymph on his wings remains silent, giving the ancient a dirty look.  
  
"Can't Ash do it?" He whines.  
  
"Well, Ashspray won't do it either and you have the map." Q drones, "Besides, judging by how slowly whoever's messaging me is, you shouldn't have a problem with them. Most likely smaller than a tundra. You, Graffiti, won't have a problem dragging back a tundra for some questioning, right?"  
  
"I guess." Graffiti sighs, his head drooping down towards the floor.  
  
The imperial types away on the large keyboard in front of him. “Looks like they replied." He opens a different message to reveal its contents and reads it aloud. "NO GHOSTS. WHO IS THIS? * = M SKL LTN. THIS IS ~~W~~. ~~W~~ = M TUF ICE. YOU LOCATED IN SI-OBSERVE..." He stops mid-reply.  
  
"What? What is it?" Graffiti cranes his neck up to try to read the screen.  
  
The imperial bares his crooked teeth in a twisted frown. His face twitches from the lack of using facial expressions. His face, though hard to read past the spiral glasses, was not positive. "No..."  
  
The crystalline nymph flutters to rest on the imperial's antlers to get a better look. "That can't be him, can it?" She squeaks. "I thought he gave up on the council!"  
  
Q spins his head to Graffiti, his familiar barely hanging onto his horns, with a straight face this time. "Get over there. Now. Bring the radio transmitter with you. If there's a brown tundra on the premises, send me their transmitter code. Do _not_ make contact with him or anyone else."  
  
"Yes, Kururu—I mean, Q, sir!" Graffiti shouts as he hops out of the massive office.


	3. Requesting Advice

  
In the middle of the night, the lone banescale soars above the entrance to the main chamber like a vulture. He slowly lowers himself closer to the ground before landing softly on the volcanic rock. With his radio transmitter hidden in a bag hung around his neck, he slowly approaches the entrance to the once dead citadel and cranes his neck forward to get a peek inside. The dim glow of the lava pool in the center sends a chill down his spine to the tip of his tail. Seeing that no one was awake, he makes a short hop down and glides down to where he knew the lairs used to be, making sure not to accidentally destroy the small staircase left behind for the landbound dragons. Graffiti takes a look down at his bag to make sure nothing broke, then surveys what the new members of the fledgling clan did to the tunnel.  
  
Nothing spectacular. The first two lairs, which belonged to the late matriarch and patriarch, had different colored curtains hung from them. Instead of purple, it was yellow. Instead of pink, it was blue. A third set of red curtains were hung from the third lair, the old light ambassador's lair. Deciding not to stall any further, he peeks his snout through the yellow curtains. A guardian with a striking resemblance to the former scavenger laid curled up on a fur bed. Not a tundra, moving on. He turns around and peeks his head through the aqua blue curtains. Another guardian, moving on. Then he peeped through the red curtains. At first, he thought the tiny bed off to the side belonged to a fae. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a beastclan, maybe a deadland disciple, except it wasn't. A distinct red and green mist lazily plumed out the top of its head. A visible section of its abdomen had translucent red spines jutting out of its sides like reddened ice. Its legs suggested it was some sort of harpy or faun, definitely bipedal in nature, but which it was was unclear from this distance. Graffiti yanks his head back and blinks in disbelief before turning behind him and starting the process again, quietly pushing his snout through a new wooden door.  
  
The more lairs he peeked through, the more confused he became. Unknown beastclan with horns, back fins, and a bobbed tail; another kind covered in fur with draconic wings and longer tails; sparkling, monochromatic dragons of ambiguous species; just what were these creatures? All these increasingly bizarre residents, and no brown tundra. In fact, there were very few dragons living here at all. Finally having enough of this mission, Graffiti sneaks past the remaining doors.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
Oh _no._  
  


[ ](https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60928638)

  
  
His heart skipped a beat after hearing a strangely familiar voice. Out of instinct, he turns to look the creature in the eyes. An animated, bipedal skeleton no bigger than a fae looked up warily at the unusually bright ancient passing through. He held a small thermos closer to himself as some sort of pathetic shield. Despite his threatened body language, his monotonous voice remained calm.  
  
"Good morning. Who are you?"  
  
Graffiti struggled to find his words. "I'm, uh, an old friend of the... of the doctor around here." He stutters.  
  
The skeleton lowers his thermos to a more relaxed position. "You know Radyn?"  
  
The ancient takes a few steps back, trying to get out of this conversation. "I'mmoreofanacquaintanceheandIgowayback I need to go, BYE!"  
  
Leaving behind the now perplexed skeleton, the banescale takes off and dashes out of the hole of the citadel like a panicked sparrow. When he finally feels safe enough, and when he's too tired to fly several miles an hour, he lands on the beach of the water domain. Feeling the sand between his talons, he fumbles with the bag and presses the gold button on the radio transmitter.  
  
"Q? This is G. No sign of a brown tundra. They've got weird beastclan living there. One of them saw me. Requesting advice, over?"


End file.
